


Magistrismorbulogy

by TheDarkFlygon



Series: From the Inside [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Caretaking, College, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, French Characters, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, POV First Person, Painful References to Danganronpa, Pneumonia, Self-Esteem Issues, Sickfic, The weirdest teacher & student relationship I've ever written period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-01-07 20:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkFlygon/pseuds/TheDarkFlygon
Summary: (magistrismorbulogy (noun): neologism. Comes from "magister, teacher; "morbus", sickness; and "λογος", speech or science)Justine was sure everything would be all right, that it was just another test she would try her best not to flunk, and all this sweet stuff to think about when you're trapped in a room for six hours.Instead, she has to deal with a man desperate to reunite with his house, and that implies no ambulance and using her friend as an improvised taxi driver.





	1. How to Pretend (at knowing what you do)

Six-hour tests truly were something unique in themselves. While you would think at first those were a ton of small exercises, or a few big ones, only one subject had two different exercises: the English test, with its commentary and its (albeit partial) English-to-French translation. All the other tests were one, solid exercise: an essay.

The thing with essays was that you could not really raise your head, unless it was to check the time on your fellow wristwatch or eat a little something so hypoglycaemia would not come to you with some time-wasting dizzy spells. You could decide to look at how pretty the ceiling of the CA209 classroom looked, or mentally comment on the table the person in front of you occupied and how messy or organized it was compared to your swamp of paper sheets and pens; it just served no purpose except from penalizing you and making you lose some precious points on your precious test.

Everybody knew losing time on an essay could eventually lead you to some troubles with the teachers. They counted on these tests to determine your true level and your will to get whatever entrance exam you wanted to get. That was the goal of preparatory class. That was the goal of being a _khâgne_ , after all.

 

I thought being a second-year student with some past… knowledge in the field of _magistrismorbulogy_ had given me enough _de visu_ experience so that I would never get surprised anymore when something weird would happen during such tests taking place.

I could barely count the times some member from my educative teams would come to work while bearing enough plague material for the entirety of Egypt to get sick. Strangely enough, barely anybody from the class would get sick in those cases; in the teacher’s lounge, it was something else. Have one sick, get coughing for an entire month. That was quite the generous bundle, except nobody wanted anyone to attend class with a high risk to catch the latest, trending flu.

 

I had even dared to think college teachers would not do this kind of stupid stuff. I thought being a doctorate in whatever precise field of literature or human sciences would make them immune to make class with a tracheitis poisoning their throat. I had to admit pretty quickly, around the end of September or the beginning of October last year, that this was not the case.

While I was already convinced that most Parisians were not adapted to the coldest temperature of the country, which translated to living in the very north, I had not expected my literature teacher to get the worst case of angina and still come to teach, correct stuff around and organize orals while his throat was getting torn apart from the inside. As fever had left him half-delirious, I had got to personally deal with his mellowed, worn down, unstable mind.

Who could have foretold the youngest of them all, the energetic and peppy newcomer to the school’s college-level crew, was actually the least confident in himself of them all? Poor Mr. Bannaire had spiralled into self-loath over getting easily sick years before he had gotten the job in Arras and was just hiding everything behind a mask made of the last things he was confident in: his literature knowledge, his skills and his family’s legacy.

 

This kind of thoughts immediately came to my mind as soon as we got given out the subject for the second Literature test. This time around, the teacher was not joking around: no other document allowed than the poor paper sheet with a quote from famous literature critic and theorist Antoine Compagnon, mentally thanking myself for having read his book for the previous test on late September. Tables were bare, outside of Benoît’s classic food empire filling entirely the other, unoccupied table.

As usual, the teacher handed out the subject by putting them face-down on the tables, ordering us not to turn them over until he had given everyone their piece of the next six-hour long trial to the weekend. The entire afternoon was on a jeopardy with a single quote, but who had expected anything else than that? We were all used to it.

 

The other thing you tended to notice the further you attended preparatory class, was how lazily teachers were dressed when the only reason for them not to stay home was to watch a bunch of college kids do some test they could easily do themselves with their eight years of studies. We had badly-ironed sweaters and hazily put on jeans, along with the most basic of sport shoes. Comfort over dressing like a Sorbonne professor (where some of our own staff had class, after their own _khâgne_ years).

I had already witness our teacher’s awful-looking grey-and-bright-orange sports shoes, but this time around, there was no casual Parisian look to him. Instead, he was wearing what I would define as “this region is awfully cold what is this utter buffoonery”: a turtleneck sweater with no hope of getting removed, a thick wool scarf whose colours were soring to any functioning iris in the audience, an even thicker coat he apparently refused to take off either and a thermos bottle presumably filled with coffee.

A part of me immediately went on high alert. That raised way too many red flags.

 

The room was sunk into a deep silence, only broken by pens scratching the sheets and people going to the bathroom from time to time, shoes producing a funny sound against the linoleum floor. This silence, usually encouraging focus and helping us through the test, was this time around a powerful conveyor for the teacher’s own sounds.

Most sounds I could hear during the test, as I was desperately trying to ignore the incoming plague in the class and everything else, were sniffing, sneezing, light coughing. Well, who could blame the guy? It was November, and November is one of the coldest months of the year. Mr. Bannaire had told us this was the worst time of the year for him, so why could it not be Mr. Moinot’s too?

It was pretty easy for me to spot whenever he was around my table or not, which was not happening as often as the previous time. Sure, even in September he had mostly stayed at the desktop computer, typing whatever he had typed. However, this time around, I could almost hear teeth cackling. All of a sudden, I felt like slapping myself for settling for the first row. This was going to be the worst essay session ever.

 

At around six o’clock, the teacher left the room, presumably to attend to basic human needs and maybe to fetch a fifth-or-so cup of coffee at the nearest machine. Fighting my hardest against the topics of life writing and romanticism, dodging easy traps about authors in literature, I barely noticed anything happened, aside from a lack of coughing.

It was at that point that I realized he had coughed harder than before. His moves were sluggish: even by just glancing over my sheet from time to time, I could almost feel physical weakness emanating from him, especially when his tired and weak eyes sometimes glanced at us, barely looking in anyone direction’s.

While I was thinking “great, another teacher came sick at work in my life”, I thought he was going to take a nap and call over good old Mr. Bannaire to substitute for him meanwhile. After all, he was his workmates’ hand man when they were watching over a test and had to take a break, just because he lived in Arras not so far from the school.

 

I gave in to my own basic needs at around quarter past six. I finished writing my paragraph, then got up while trying my hardest to keep my ideas in mind not to lose them, got out of the room and went down the stairs to the general “workshop” part of the school. I felt slightly light-headed from all the focus I had pulled in the last five hours, but I needed to write down my third part. I only had to make it quick…

After realizing the quickest way to the bathroom was blocked off thanks to a locked door, I decided to take the other way, the longer but only one available, and bolted in the opposite direction. On my way, my foot tripped on something, and I almost fell. I cursed myself in a low voice and almost continued on until I felt something rather soft against my foot. Upon looking down, I choked back a scream.

A single, unconscious person was right under my eyes. I felt my hands starting to shake as I kneeled down, certain of their identity. I softly turned them on their back, hearing heavy and laboured breathing, feeling heat under my rather cold hands. I almost lost it as soon as I saw a half-broken pair of large glasses and the face of the person.

 

“Sir?! Sir?!” I started to scream as I completely forgot about my bladder.

Without even thinking, I shook him off, hoping to wake him up somehow. The stench of sweat started to fill my senses as I felt myself tear up. What was this?! Why?!

“Mr. Moinot?! Hey, wake up, sir!!” I continued to scream before hearing heavy footsteps behind me.

 

My roommate, Déborah, was the one behind me, along with Maxime. I could read on her face how pissed off she was, something I had not seen since we half-reconciled after some huge splits during our first year.

“Why the fuck are you screaming like that, Justine?! We want to work, us!!” she scolded me as I barely lifted my eyes.

Her face immediately switched expressions when she saw mine. She looked surprised, as Maxime stepped from behind her.

“What’s wrong, Justine? You don’t look well” he asked me.

 

I felt like I had lost my voice, as if I could not speak up anymore. My whole body was shivering, I wanted to cry, I had cold sweat, I did not know what to do and now I was getting (rightfully) scolded at.

“M… Moinot…” I barely replied, teeth cackling.

“What about Moinot?” Déborah asked back, still doubtful.

“He hasn’t come back yet… You’re worried?” Maxime then asked.

“I… It’s not that… He’s…”

 

I finally gathered enough strength to get up, slightly staggering into a stable position, letting my two classmates discover what had put me in such a state of distress. They both retained screams.

“What the fuck?! What the fuck?! What the fuck?!” Déborah repeated continuously.

“How did that happen?!” her best friend yelled.

“I don’t know! I was gonna pee when I almost tripped on him, and he’s not waking up! What do we do?!”

 

We panicked for a bit, and before I knew it, we were thirty-or-so out of the classroom, all in our own mind set. There was nobody to help us anymore: no nurse, no hall manager, no cleaning agent. We were all alone, thirty stupid college kids, with our unconscious teacher on our hands. At least, that was what I thought before I saw my classmates go back to the room, tidy up their stuff and leave the school. No teacher, no test getting corrected apparently. Eventually, everyone went back to finish up their essay and leave.

I was left alone, and was seriously thinking about myself finishing up my thing. I still had enough time to run to the bathroom and finish my thing. I gently put the teacher on the nearest chair I could find and rushed to the toilets, my initial anxiety now bringing me back to my body’s feelings.

 

It turned out my mind was still somewhere else as I finished up my third part. I just hoped the teacher would be unconscious enough not to remember me ditching up on… Whatever I had been supposed to do to help him. My anxiety and fears had turned into a powerful source of energy, along with the feeling I was running out of time to finish up one of the most important grades of the entire year.

I was the last one remaining in the room, at five past seven, when I put my finished essay on the table. The teacher had still yet to come back, so I thought about tidying my stuff and either leave right after the school to join back Lucas who was waiting for me, or leave the room and check up in the teacher. My choice was all-set when I heard a groggy voice call out for my name from behind my back.

 

“Justine…?”

I turned over the source of the voice, pens still in my hands (which had gained some shakiness again), only to see Mr. Moinot up and walking again, staggering while taking support on the nearest table from the other side of the classroom. Well, was I _fucked_.

“S-sir…? You… You’re okay?” I asked, with the most dumbfounded voice I had ever heard myself speak in.

 

He stared at me, silently, as I quickly tidied up my stuff. This was going to be really fucking awkward. His eyes were trying their hardest to focus on my face, but without wearing an already half-broken pair of glasses, he was getting nowhere. It was even surprising me that he had been able to tell who I was.

He coughed into his fist and got up right in front of me, still trying to take his best Parisian self-assured stance. All that came out of his efforts was this sad parody of a confident man, who clearly just wanted to go home but had to get to the train station first. It was pretty pathetic to look at, and I could only feel bad for the guy.

I quickly understood he was under a wave of dizziness when he stumbled upon absolutely nothing and started to fall upwards, right when I caught him before he met the floor. My light weight did not help me in the slightest, but after some effort, I was able to sit him on the chair I had occupied previously.

 

We stared at each other for a bit, in the best of our abilities. I was desperately trying to hide my anxiety and utter panic and he was still trying to focus on me without his glasses. It seemed like he had an easier time doing it when I was close to his face than when he was far away from me.

“How was the test…?” he asked me, still coughing.

“Well, it wasn’t that hard… Why the fuck are you asking that of everything?!”

Logic was something foreign to feverish teachers it seemed.

 

“I don’t appreciate… Your language, Juliette…”

“It’s Justine, sir. Justine Lhotar.”

“Yes, whatever, Justine maybe… I was simply asking…” he continued, with a half-angry half-pained face.

It seemed like I had offended him by getting somewhat pissed at his completely casual question. Sure, it was perfectly normal of him to ask me about my test when he was paler than a corpse. Completely and utterly _normal_.

 

“You’re the last one remaining…?” he then asked, looking around the room.

“Yep, everyone else left before I did. I think I’ll have to go soon too, I have a friend waiting for me in front of the school…” I replied, looking at my still turned-off phone.

He slowly got up from the chair, a hand on his head, gently rubbing his temples.

“Don’t you think… It’s hot in here…? Did they turn on the heaters all of a sudden…?”

“Sir, it’s goddamn cold in here. You know that it’s always cold in the CA209 room around November until like March, right?” I responded, in complete disbelief. This was a goddamn spoof of some kind of lame sick episode from a stupid harem anime.

 

He got a coughing fit out of the blue, but as opposed to all the other ones I had witnessed beforehand, this one did not seem to stop. Eventually, his throat made the grossest noise and something got out from it.

I did not have to look further than my own shoe to see what it was all about. While my black ankle boots are usually hard to taint, because their colour is pretty dark to begin with, I knew something was up. A slight smell told me this was not normal, that it was not just some saliva spat in an attempt to cleanse a sick body.

I took a tissue from my pocket and swiped my shoe, nervous to know what was on it.

 

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…” he apologized as he got a tissue out himself and blew his nose.

I carefully open the piece I have in my hand, only to reveal exactly what I had expected but was still not prepared to face: thick, rusty mucus. The colour was barely visible because I was too far from it to actually see it was mostly rust-coloured with red streaks in it. It was absolutely disgusting, but more than this, it was worrying because this had come out from _an actual human_.

“Sir, you need to go the hospital like right now!! This ain’t normal!!” I yelled, more shocked than anything.

 

Mr. Moinot slightly stiffed up his shoulders, just so he could look like something when speaking to me, his eyes suddenly filling with some kind of determination. He still looked like death; he just looked a little more alive when he was trying.

“I can’t do that, I have… I have someone waiting for me at home…” he whispered back, his voice almost completely gone.

“Someone waiting at home?” I asked dumbly, my own brain still mushy from the recent intellectual effort I had done.

“Yes… My wife and son… They are waiting for me…”

 

I felt really sorry for the guy. He pretended to be fine all along so he could go back home without tainting his honour or something. While he sounded and acted really entitled and “holier-than-thou-northern-peasants”-like at times, he had never been a bad person and meant well for us as our teacher and as a person, and there I was, the only thing preventing him from going back home to his loved ones. _Great job, Justine._

“You’re sure you’re going to make it to the train station, sir?” I asked, convinced he would not abandon on his want to go back home by himself.

“Yes… I’ll manage…” he answered simply, some unsureness sipping into his voice. It did not feel right in the slightest to hear him doubt himself.

 

As he said so, the teacher promptly staggered to the desk to shove his stuff back into his bag, forgetting to turn off the computer, which I did for him while he was paying attention not to make our tests fly everywhere across the room. He eventually got sat down by his absurdly powerful dizziness, a hand on his forehead, beads of sweat pearling down his temples.

“Sir, I really don’t think this is gonna work… You look like you could pass out at any given time. I can drive you home if you really need to go there…” I proposed, hoping he would accept.

I swiftly turned on my mobile phone, also hoping Lucas would accept to drive straight to Lille instead of back to Homarville.

 

Mr. Moinot looked at me for a few seconds, seeming pretty out of it, until he had a slight smile which turned upwards quickly afterwards.

“I thought you were living in the dorm, Justine… Don’t you board the train to school…?” he openly wondered.

“A friend of mine has a car and is picking me up tonight. I’m sure he can drive you back home if he knows about the situation” I explained to him, about to dial up.

“It’s really kind of you, but you should go home right away… Don’t worry about me…” he wheezed out, forcing a small smile.

That was slightly starting to piss me off. _Slightly._

“There’s no buts, sir. We’re taking you home, I can’t let you walk around when you look like you’re about to die.”

 

He opened his mouth, ready to reply to me, but closed it without saying anything. He then looked down, eyes looking away from my direction, as he zipped closed his backpack.

“I guess this is a yes?” I asked, feeling slightly more positive about the situation.

He just silently nodded, shame washing over himself.

“Sir… I know it’s probably humiliating for you to get helped by some college kid like me. You probably feel powerless right now, unable to actually do what you need to do… But it’s okay. We all have our moments of weakness, no? I’m sure your family will understand.”

I smiled as softly as I could, not getting any visual clue, before dialling up my friend. He immediately took the call.

 

“This is Inspector Clebix Lucas, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, huh, yeah, Lucas? I know I’m pretty late on our schedule, but I need you to do something for me tonight.”

“Sure, why not. What is it?”

“It’s weird but… I need you to drive my French teacher home.”

I had some seconds of silence before I heard my friend scuff in confusion.

“Huh… Sure, but can I ask why? This is super weird, not gonna lie.”

“He’s sicker than an entire city during the Plague, and he like passed out in the middle of the hall earlier this afternoon. I don’t want let him go back home to Lille on his own in case he faints again, y’know?”

“Oh, sure! I’ll gladly drive him after we get something to eat.”

 

I lent my teacher a hand.

“Sir, you’re with me?”

He did not add anything else as he took my hand to get himself up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small note: "Khâgne" stands for a fancy college level in France, more exactly, 2nd year after high school level. That means Justine is essentially a literature and human sciences student.


	2. Improvised Ambulance

Taking my luggage had been easier than finding Lucas’s car. The guy had a talent to get lost in Arras and have the worst landscape directions. Mr. Moinot almost fainted on me twice, talked nonsense in _non-sequiturs_ just because we needed him not to feel asleep and I had heard everything, from his son’s birth in every single detail he could dig up from his mushed out brain to his more… opinionated thoughts.

_“You see, Justine, it’s not that François isn’t someone bad… He’s just noisy and confusing after a while… He spends his time changing topics and he has zero filter… You think Elodie’s be at the train station too…?”_

_“Oh, yeah, sure sir. Sure.”_

 

When we finally met up with Lucas – as soon as I saw his brown eyes, curly-ish brown hair and crooked nose – I could not be happier. At this point, my right arm had grown numb from trailing my case behind me and my left shoulder served as a support to the man I was kind of babysitting. It got a chuckle out of my friend before he looked at my teacher, who was on the verge of losing consciousness, judging by how heavy he felt on my shoulder.

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you, but can we hurry? I think he’s gonna pass out in like… Twenty seconds. Can you open the door for me?” I asked my friend.

“Of course,” Lucas responded, “let me put your luggage in the car then.”

With my right hand finally freed, I slightly poked the teacher.

“Sir? We’re here, just stay with me for a little bit longer.”

 

It took me a bit longer than I would have liked to put him in a spot where he could fall asleep without me freaking out. We had recovered his glasses, but as they had got damaged when he had passed out, they were put away in his backpack. Once he was all safe on the back seats, I sat on the front with my friend and we drove off.

We stayed silent for a bit, fixated on the road until we got out of Arras. We were in for quite the road trip to Lille, and I promised to pay him food once we were there. Until then, we decided to share some leftovers biscuits I had not eaten during the test. Once we were out of there and on the highway to the biggest city of the region, I finally looked behind our seats.

“He’s out cold” I commented before turning around. Lucas asked me some questions.

 

“How is he? I mean, when you’re in class and stuff.”

“He’s really posh, dude. Like full-blown Parisian caricature when compared to Mr. Bannaire. Always polite and, honestly, if he wasn’t sick as a dog he would look almost condescending. He’s not a bad guy though, and I know this because of why he wanted so bad to go home…”

“Why so? I don’t think you told me much.”

“If I got it well, he needs to go back home to his wife and son. It’s all he told me. I just know his son is like… Not even one year old? He was born last year, I remember that ‘cause Mr. Bannaire had to substitute for him for two weeks.”

 

I saw a slight smile draw itself on my comrade’s face.

“What do you think? I think it’s beautiful. He loves them so much that he would be ready to go back and forth in Hell just for them.”

“Sure, it’s great from him and his love for them is beautiful, as you put it, but… I’m sure she would have wanted him to stay home. He’s so sick he passed out during the middle of our test. I’m sure nobody wants to see their loved one lying unconscious on the floor…”

“You’re right on that… It’s very well thought from him, but he did worse than good. Nobody could have watched over you?”

“I’m sure no one in our teachers has class on Friday afternoon, aside from the geography teacher that is. I think even Mr. Bannaire would have agreed to watch us over just so Mr. Moinot could go home and get some well-deserved rest.”

 

Some silence ensued before I continued the conversation.

“I’m sorry for making you take such a detour… Lille’s pretty far away and it’s gonna cost you some fuel. I’m buying you a burrito when we get there, okay? Euralille can’t be that far from where he lives, he sounds like he lives in the rich part of Lille” I told Lucas, fiddling with my fingers.

“Hey, it’s okay, you know. I won’t prevent someone from joining their loved ones, that’s not something anyone should do. And you know I love to drive anyway” he replied to me.

“But, like, you don’t know this guy. We don’t know where he lives in Lille. It’s gonna be one tough situation…”

“I think we should call his wife. She should know, no?”

“Shit, you’re right! I guess we’ll have to wait until he wakes up again for that, though…”

 

Realizing we would have to wait and see, Lucas and I switched to other topics: friends, school for me, work for him, his still-not-resolved crush situation for him, plans for my birthday…

“Birthday…?” a faint voice whispered from behind our backs.

“Sir? You’re awake?” I asked, looking in his direction, only to see him conscious again, rubbing his arms together to get some warmth.

“Yes… Were you speaking about your… Birthday? Is it soon…?”

“It’s tomorrow, actually. But you shouldn’t worry about that. How you’re feeling?”

He got a coughing fit or two, spat in a tissue and resumed.

“As you can guess, not very good…”

 

Lucas glanced behind him.

“If you need me to stop, tell me, sir.”

He went quiet for a few seconds, then glanced at me.

“Speaking of which, I don’t think I introduced myself. It feels a bit awkward…”

“Oh, right, let me do that!”

 

I cleared my throat for emphasis, but before I could speak, I got interrupted.

“My name’s Lucas Clebix, with an “X”. I’m Justine’s friend and I work as a delivery man. It’s a pleasure to meet you even if it’s… Like that.”

The teacher cleared his throat, coughed up some mucus again and introduced himself.

“I am Florian Moinot. I teach at Gambromas, but you should know that thanks to Justine… I’m her class’s Literature teacher. Nice to meet you too…”

His fit almost felt like it was done to lay emphasis on what he had just said. I was sure they would had shaken hands if one of them was not driving. At least there was no conflict nor dead people yet.

 

I slightly jumped as I remembered a previous talking topic. I turned around to face the teacher, or at least attempt to do so, still nervous about the situation.

“Sir, would you mind tell us where you live? It’s just so we can drive you home. No ill intent or anything…”

“Justine… Where are you heading, if you don’t know this…?” he interrogated, eyes looking slightly embarrassed.

“I just know you live in Lille. I think Mrs. Dugras mentioned it once or twice before. We need a house number and street name.”

“Just get me to… This street…” he coughed out as he wrote down some address on his own cell phone, which I proceeded to enter into the GPS device.

 

Once the GPS device was all set and ready, we were just waiting for instructions outside of the highway.

“Where is it in Lille, Ju?” Lucas asked me as he doubled another car on the road.

“It’s near the centre, just as I thought. I don’t think we’ll have too much trouble accessing it if we’re lucky. Traffic is already starting to slow down.”

“Okay, to Lille we go!”

 

Silence resumed again before Lucas broke it.

“Sir, it’s indiscreet, but maybe you should call the people waiting for you at home?”

Mr. Moinot looked at him for a bit, seemingly confused. He sniffled a bit before replying.

“I guess Justine explained the situation to you… This isn’t a bad idea actually…”

He seemed like he was about to fall asleep at any second when he took his phone again and dialled up a number he knew by heart, although I was not expecting to be able to hear the entire conversation.

 

 _“Florian? Florian, darling, is it you?!”_ screamed through the phone a female voice, which I could only assume was his wife’s.

“It’s me… Something’s wrong…?” he replied in the raspiest voice I had heard for the day.

_“Oh my, you sound terrible… Is everything all right? I’ve been worried sick for you!”_

“I’m doing worse than I thought… but I’m fine… I’m on my way home…”

_“Are you boarding the train at the moment? Did you miss the previous one? You should already be home…”_

“It’s more complicated than this… Could you please make something to eat for two more people…?”

 

I could not prevent myself from crashing into the conversation. He had his phone’s speakers turned on, and I had not thought about this.

“Sir, like, no! Don’t bother with us, we’ll find some place to eat on our own” I yelled.

 _“Florian? Who are you with? Are you with François and Elodie?”_ the voice on the phone reacted.

“I’m with a student and her friend… They’re the ones driving me home…”

“Sir, can we talk directly to Mrs. Moinot?” I asked. 

He lent me the phone reluctantly, heavily coughing into his fist.

 

I took it in my hands and put it between Lucas and me, holding it firmly. This felt so wrong on so many levels.

_“Florian? Florian, are you still with me?”_

“Huh… Hello? This is Mrs. Moinot, right?” I said, hesitating, uncomfortable.

_“Who is it?”_

“My name’s Justine Lhotar… I’m a student of your husband. I guess he’s your husband? Anyway, yeah, I’m the student he just mentioned.”

_“All right. Could you please clarify the situation for me? I am afraid I am confused…”_

“Sure thing. We were in a test, but Mr. Moinot passed out while he was away from the room, and after some time, I was left alone in the room with him…”

Glancing at my teacher caused me to discover he was waving his hands as to tell me to quiet down, a finger on his lips. He probably did not want me to mention him passing out. His wife did not add anything.

“I got scared that he would never make it home ‘cause he looked like he was really, really sick but he refused to go to the hospital… So I decided my friend and I would drive him home, simple as that. I hope it’s okay with you.”

 

I heard a sigh from the other side of the phone line, along with some babbling. It probably was their son, speaking in some intelligible baby language. At least he was not crying, something completely fine by me.

_“Your name is Justine, right? Thank you very much for this. I was very worried when I noticed he had gone to work anyway… Thank you so much for what you did.”_

“Oh, no need to thank me! Just thank my friend who accepted to go along with my crazy idea. It’s normal to help people out.”

“No need to thank me either,” added Lucas, “it’s completely normal of us to do this. It would be unfair not to help someone with such good intentions as your husband does.”

_“I am really relieved… I have to hang up for now, my son –”_

 

A terrible coughing it then burst from behind us, right as we crossed the border to the Nord department. We both jumped, with me almost dropping the phone but still managing to catch it in mid-air afterwards. The wet, violent cough was borderline terrifying to hear, growing noisier than the city car’s engine getting pushed to most of its potential. A powerful wheezing sound paired with it made it all the scarier.

“Sir, you’re okay?!” I yelled while looking in the back, almost wanting to mute the call so his wife would not have to witness this from the other side of a phone line. Her voice still called out for his first name multiple times, thick worry dripping from it.

He spat into a close-by tissue, gasping, clutching the air to get oxygen back in his chest, sweat pearling again. His eyes went dimmer, and even if it was just a slight difference, I felt dread crawling under my skin, from my feet to my neck, ending in my fingertips.

 

I mechanically said “goodbye for now” to the phone before hanging up, putting away the phone in my pocket. Something was not right, and I knew it as soon as I noticed this difference in his irises. From past experiences, I readied myself for the worst, remembering his nonsense from earlier.

“Tell her that I love her…” was all he said before seemingly passing out, even as Lucas stopped at the fortunately nearby stop station.

Once stopped, we could both look at him without having to think of the road and the other cars on there. His half-opened eyes were the last thing telling us he was still conscious, desperate to stay awake while his own body was giving up on him once again. What a sad display.

 

“Sir, what’s wrong?” Lucas asked, as afraid as I was yet trying to keep the situation in-check.

“There’s… Black spots on your faces…” he replied, coughing intensely between each bit of sentence he could string together.

“Black spots? Fuck, I think he’s getting breathless…” I said to my friend, hands starting to sweat.

The driver got out of the car, only to enter again from the back. He put the teacher back into a position where he could breathe evenly, the wheezing finally going down yet remaining there, as a background noise. I let out a sigh of relief

 

“I’m… Sorry for… Making you… Worry…” he whispered, a hand on his chest.

“Refrain from talking, sir. You’re going to waste your breath” replied Lucas, calm as ever.

It was still pretty disturbing to me to see this man so weakened. Mr. Moinot was far taller than Lucas and me by more than a head and he seemed to be the healthiest of all of my teachers. Despite this, despite his proud looks, there he was in my friend’s car, depending entirely on two college-aged young adults.

 

“I know it’ll sound rough,” I then said, “but we need to start the car ASAP and bring him home. I’m afraid his breathing is getting worse by the minute. Why the fuck didn’t I call an ambulance to begin with?”

“Because you wanted to bring him back to his wife and son. Because he refused to go to the hospital for that. Don’t blame it on yourself, Justine. It’s not worth it.”

“I know, but, but… I’m so scared! This isn’t supposed to be! People with good intentions are meant to be happy with the ones they love, yet here we are with an insanely ill man, unsure of what we’re even doing! Fuck this shit!”

As I was cursing against our lack of power in the situation, Lucas pointed to me that we had finally arrived in Lille. We only had to make our way downtown, following the directions the GPS was giving us. Everything would be all right, I told myself to calm down.

 

Yes, everything would be all right.


	3. Sun Setting Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This took far longer than I wanted it to. Fack.

“Ju,” Lucas called out for me right after ending a call, as we were facing the door of a house we did not know, “it was Lina.”

“Gee, I wouldn’t have guessed. I can recognize her voice from your phone, you know.”

“She invited me at her place and, huh… She wants to talk about Alexis…” he stuttered. I interrupted him before he could finish.

“Go for it, dude. I’ll deal with that alone, I shouldn’t have dragged you in there in the first place anyway. Just get my luggage and backpack from the car, will ya? I’m a bit… Busy as you can see” I said as I attempt to balance Mr. Moinot’s weight on my shoulders.

“Thank you very much. I told Lina, and she said you could…”

“Lucas. Someone has to explain what the fuck happened at Chromas. You weren’t there; I was. Please, I’ll manage on my own, even if I have to lie to my parents about the whole ordeal. Thanks for everything, though, remind me to pay that back to you one of those days.”

My sudden, stern tone made him react immediately, as he brought to me what I had requested him to. He waved goodbye at me and left in a drive, leaving me alone to face whatever I was supposed to face.

 

“Justine…?” a weak voice then called for me as I was painfully trying to reach for my luggage’s handle.

“Hmm?”

“You should… Go home… The train station isn’t so far…”

“I may not know Lille very much, but I know we’re at a few underground stations from there. Thanks for the concern, though.”

He still, recklessly, got out of my (rather light) grip and staggered to the door, ringing the thing by the weakest poke which could do such a thing. I quickly put my bag on my back, gripped the handle of my luggage and rushed to him.

“Sir, wait for…”

 

The door opened right before me, just as I was raising my eyes again.

“…me…”

I gulped.

 

An auburn-haired, brown-eyed woman wearing glasses looked at me, slightly taller than I was, standing on heels. Describing what I was feeling at this moment as “not very welcome” would be a huge understatement.

“H-hello…! I-is this M-Mrs. Moinot…?” I blurted out, my legs immediately tensing to a ridiculous level below my waist.

“It is indeed me, Miss. What do you want from-”

She got interrupted when the teacher stumbled from the small corner where the ring bell was, pushing me aside on his way there, and fell on his wife when attempting to embrace her. She backed down, I was unable to read the expression on her face, but her small whispers told me she was not fully reassured about how things were going.

 

“Florian… Florian…?!” she called out for this name, to no avail.

“I think he just passed out again…” I commented, trying to feel more comfortable than a stranger in a strange land.

Some light coughing and a poor attempt at gaining back on his feet disproved what I had just said.

“Oh, my poor Florian… Let’s get you to bed…” she simply said, a slight smile on her face, but her frowned eyebrows sent another message.

 

She then proceeded to glance back at me.

“You are Justine from the phone, are you not?” she asked, as she temporarily sat down her husband on a nearby chair.

“Yeah, that’s me… Happy to meet you, I guess? I mean, it would have been immensely better if it wasn’t in _those_ conditions…”

“I am delighted to meet you too. Make yourself at home while I attend to your teacher, will you?”

“Huh… Can I ask something first? It’s really embarrassing, but…”

 

Something about this woman made me feel… comfortable and relaxed. It may had been her gentle eyes, or her soft tone, or even the way she held onto her husband, still holding his hand even as he was sitting and she was standing, facing me. _What a lucky guy_ , I could not prevent myself from thinking.

“Sure, what is it?” she asked.

“Well, you see, my friend who brought me there had to attend to his… girlfriend who’s living in Lille too, so I’m kinda stuck there. I think the last train to Calais has left already anyway…”

She gave me a sweet, small smile.

“I owe you a roof, then. You seem quite restless, actually. Have you had time to have dinner yet?”

“Oh, not really, just ate some biscuits I didn’t eat during the test. I think I still have some, and I can always…”

“Let me serve you a little something. I do not think F… Mr. Moinot is going to eat much.”

“Really, you shouldn’t, I’ll be just fine…”

“My treat, Miss.”

Her sterner tone immediately conveyed the message: I should just surrender and eat what I was getting served. It was actually better this way: I was starting to feel lightheaded from my hunger.

 

“O-okay, you win…” I replied, a bit nervous about the entire situation.

“I will show you where to sleep tonight. Do you mind coming with me upstairs with your luggage?”

“Of course not…!”

She took back her husband on her shoulders and made her way upstairs, as I pained my way up clutching my case’s handle in both my hands. I should had remembered my strength was always far weaker whenever I was fresh out of tests. Well, you could blame this on having to bear my taller and heavier man of my teacher for a good thirty minutes in Arras and again when we had arrived to his house. In any case, I made my way on the first floor, and just as I had expected, the house looked indeed bigger on the inside.

 

To the best of her abilities, she showed me a room on my right, whose door was closed and whose door was a simple white, just like the walls on the first floors. I lifted my case over the clean, well-aligned wood planks covering the floor.

“This is our guest room. It may be a bit dusty, since it has not been used for a month, but I think it should be enough for tonight. Warn me if you need anything more” she said as she disappeared into another room.

I quickly agreed and made my way there, discovering a rather big bedroom, that I would say was as big as my dorm room, except I was single in there and not with two roommates. There was a double bed in the centre of the room, some other pieces of furniture such as a dresser and a chest of drawers. That was far fancier than any single room from my house, but I would roll with it with no issue. I did not have any other place to sleep in, after all, so the better the room was, the better I was.

 

I quickly put down my case and bag, patted the bed and exited the room. I proceeded to get a glimpse of the master bedroom, hearing a conversation I should had never even known about, but some kind of improper curiosity took the best out of my morals, and I stood there, next to the stairs, where I had a view of almost everything.

The strange thought of even seeing one of my teachers in bed was overshadowed by the sweet, lovable aura coming out of the scene. I quickly started to see a wife caring for her husband rather than my _teacher’s_ wife taking care of my _teacher_ , following this weird trend you tended to see when attending college. School staff was more human than it had ever been to your eyes, as they showed themselves to be more than some people paid to teach you about whatever they had a degree in. In this weird meeting between my reality and another man’s, our teacher-student relationship seemed to not exist anymore.

 

Mrs. Moinot was sitting next to her husband, lying in bed, as she laid what I guessed was a wet washcloth over his forehead. Coughing noises were quieting any conversation I could have heard, but I could still make most of it, even by sheer context deductions.

“This was very nice of you… But you should have prioritize your health over this test, do you not think?” she asked him, taking out a beeping thermometer.

“How’s Olivier…?” he asked back.

“He is asleep in his room. I wonder whenever you will truly think of yourself first.”

“And how’s… Juliette…?”

That name again. I was used to my teacher calling me “Juliette” out of slip-ups, but I still wondered why he did. My name only started the same way, and he did call me by the right first name before and after. This was quite the strange mistake to make every two days.

 

“Do you mean the young lady who brought you there with her friend? She is doing fine, at least I think she is. I am sure she is fully aware of the situation.”

“Can you… Thank her for me…?” he replied as he coughed up something, if the gross sound made by his wet coughing was any hint.

“I will. She truly saved you there. I do not even want to imagine what could have happened if she had not been there to take care of you…” she said while looking at the tissue, grimacing when her eyes met with the contents of it.

_She was making me blush, really._

“If things get worse during the night, do not hesitate to wake me up, okay? Now, let me just look at your temperature…”

She gasped, only to put her hand on his forehead again.

“You have a really high fever! I will have to call for a doctor tomorrow, I am surprised you even lasted until now…”

Maybe she had truly not heard me mentioning him passing out on the phone. Oh well, it was far better for him if she had not.

 

He glanced in my direction, his eyes crossing mine. His glossy irises were far more visible now that he was steadily looking at me without his huge, hipster glasses. Instead, he had smaller ones, which made his face look even sicker than it already looked. However, I was far more worried about him spotting me than such a detail.

“Justine…?” he whispered in my direction, making his wife turn around.

“Oh, my, I am very sorry, you must have waited all this time! Let me rush downstairs and make you something for you, honey” she said before getting up and exiting the room.

“Do you mind coming with me?” she then asked me, smiling.

“Actually… I have something to tell her…” he added. She blinked.

 

Mrs. Moinot stopped for a minute, seemed to ponder then looked at us back.

“Sure. I will bring you both something then.”

She then specifically spoke to me in a low voice, as if it was meant to be kept secret.

“Please take care of yourself, honey. I am afraid he is really ill, it may be contagious.

“Sure, I’ll do. I don’t wanna get sick anyway.”

 

Of course, the calming feeling fluttering in my mind was over as soon as Mrs. Moinot went downstairs, and I only had to take my guts and enter my teacher’s bedroom, praying every divinity on the Mount Olympus not to come down with whatever he had in his lungs.

“S-sir…?” I stuttered as I painfully entered the room, both intimidated by the entire situation and absolutely embarrassed beyond my mind. I was a stranger in a strange land and this was clearly not my day.

“Please take a seat…” he told me as he waved to the unoccupied side of the double-sized bed _. Oh fuck no._

I hesitated for a bit, before eventually sitting on the edge of it, barely looking at the man right next to me, as if I needed a safe distance from him not to fall apart in a thousand embarrassed shivers. I was clearly _not ready at all_ for this.

 

“Did you… know this was going to happen…?” he asked, in such a low-toned and low-volume voice, I could only mentally compare it to his usual confident and rather light-toned speech style.

“That I was gonna end up at my teacher’s house for an entire night and maybe more ‘cause my friend would have traded me for his crush? Absolutely not”

He cleared his throat, maybe for emphasis, maybe because it actually itched. He still chuckled lightly.

“No, I mean… What happened at Chromas…”

“Oh, that. I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t expect you to actually faint, sir… I think I even lost my mind ‘cause some people went down to scold me, they heard me scream and panic. Sorry for that, by the way.”

“There didn’t seem to be anyone else left when we left the school…”

I started to notice his Parisian accent had been slipping off, ever so slightly, since our conversation after the test. It went from losing its posh attitude, to shortening words, and now I could almost tell what region Mr. Moinot actually sounded like his family came from. It sounded like his parents came from Picardie, the region right below ours. Huh, what a shocker.

w ours. Huh, what a shocker.

“You’re right on that, everybody else left. I mean, I understand why they did, they had trains and stuff, but it was still a dick move” I replied.

“So why did you… Insist on helping me then…? Your friend and you had… Plans…”

“Plans? That’s a pretty word to say improvising an evening out of drinking fancy iced tea while telling each other about our lives.”

“I mean, you mentioned… Your…”

His coughing had reached a point where he could not stop it anymore.

 

“Sir, Lucas was right, you shouldn’t strain your voice… You sound breathless…”

Gee, guess who had told her teacher to take care of his voice again. It seemed like I would forever worry about things I should not have to worry about.

“I… I know I got pretty forceful back then, and, huh… I’m sorry…”

“You did right…”

 

I blinked. What I had done in a complete panic and a lack of confidence in any convincing ability of mine were a good decision? I called bullshit, something I did not do out of respect for a teacher, who also happened to be my teacher, who also just happened to be sick. He cleared his throat, only to cough for a few solid seconds.

“You mean it?” I asked, still doubtful.

“I now realize… It wasn’t the right thing to do… But…”

“But?”

I was conflicted over the simple three-letter word. Why would he make his _mea culpa_ when I had said nothing about what he had done (even though I thought it was beautiful, reckless rubbish), only to excuse himself partly? This seemed plain weird to me.

“I got too prideful…”

 

My shoulders finally tensed down. Something about this confession, this apology made me relax for a reason unknown to me. Maybe it was the weight of guilt lifting up from my chest. My mind was focused on anything in the room other than my own feelings and mind sets.

“You think…?” my voice trailed off as I looked around.

A sort of comfortable silence installed itself. The dimmed light coming from the curtained windows gave a soothing atmosphere to the room, giving it a warm orange ambiance, drowning the wooden floor and furniture. The walls were strangely naked, for such a fancy-looking house, only decorated by a solid warm brown colour with a narrow, white-and-gold strip dividing the wall in two unequal parts, a smaller one on the top and a bigger one on the bottom. I felt strangely soothed.

 

He replied in-between huge fits of coughing and heavy breathing times.

“I got too… confident, I would say… I thought… I could make it through the end of today… But I was too weak…”

“ _Weakened_.” I sharply interrupted.

“Excuse me…?”

I turned to him, eyes locking on his. His glossy, reddened glaze defied my will to “scold” him as he seemed truly vulnerable; it still did not prevent my gut feelings from making it out of my mind.

 

“Sir, you’re not weak. You still lasted that long today, that’s really fucking impressive considering you’re still speaking with me right now! And while I think you, yes, may have been too confident in your capacity to hold out, that doesn’t make you weak. I remember Mr. Bannaire once telling us it was okay if we failed, it was just a one-time thing and we would do better next time. I’ve always believed that.

Yeah, I know this applies to school work, orals and essays and all that jazz; but I truly think this applies to everything you do in life. You know, when you tell us we need to trust in ourselves because otherwise we’ll never actually get the ENS exam? I think you should apply this to yourself right now, sir, I really do.

I’m not sure if you were conscious enough to remember that, but you told me not to bring you to the hospital ‘cause you ‘your wife and son needed you’. That’s really thoughtful of you and…”

_“I was the one who needed them…”_

 

It was my turn to get surprised and to violently turn to him. For the first time, he was the one looking away and I was the one looking at him directly. The tables had turned, had they not?

“What do you mean?” I wondered.

“I… I wanted to see them more than anything… At that moment… Maybe because I hate to… Be alone when I’m sick…”

This was getting way too intimate, and while I knew this and was conscious of the issue, I did my best to tear apart the person from the function he occupied in my school life. He chuckled to himself, shrugging off what I could only guess was his embarrassment.

 

“That’s childish of me… You don’t think it’s funny… how the people hiding the most when they’re sick… are the ones who need the most care…?”

“S-sir, I’m not sure you should be telling me all those things…”

“Tell me, Juliette… I’m being ridiculous… right…?”

“No, it’s not that! I’m just… I’m just a student of yours! I think I shouldn’t be here when you’re getting so personal!”

“I feel like my lungs are burning…?”

“Oh, great, you’re going into _non-sequiturs_ again…”

 

Mrs. Moinot softly knocked and entered the room, holding a plate with a bowl and a plate along with a spoon, a fork and a knife, only to almost drop it, rush to a chair to put it down, then rush again to her husband, whose eyes had gone dim. She took his shoulders, trying to force him to look at her.

“Florian! Florian, you’re with me?!” she yelled in his direction, scared.

“What’s wrong with him? We were having a… rather normal conversation and then…”

“He went delirious…” she simply said under her breath as she desperately tried to make him come back to reason

Soon enough, he simply threw himself in her arms, his wheezing now stronger and louder than ever. I let out a sigh I did not even know I had retained until this very moment.

 

She rubbed his back, letting him weep in an embrace. I got up from the bed, took the part of the tray meant for me, and went downstairs. This was out of my reach.


	4. Parisian Façade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My characters' logic doesn't make much sense again and we get some deep thinking on life and masks or something  
> Also stupid literature reference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does the backstory part here count as a spoiler for A Glass of Wine or is A Glass of Wine a spoiler for Magistrismorbulogy's backstory part?  
> Hmmmmmm  
> Also for that part, please check out AGoW, which has a full disclaimer on this shit and stuff

I was downstairs, finishing up my plate in what I assumed to be the dining room. The entire house was pretty fancy, with some (faux) white marble floor, a table made of quite the fine wood and very comfy chairs. I had forced myself to down the plate of Bolognese spaghetti I had been given. I did not know what was weirder: the fact I was eating at my teacher’s, the fact I was alone or the fact I was doing both while perfectly knowing this plate had been meant for someone else, and someone who had authority over me of all things.

Even when I tried not to think about how weird anything in this situation was, I was still coming up with something weird. At first, it was pretty shallow and even humorous to think about: I had not expected the fancy Mrs. Moinot cook her fancy and posh husband a plate of Bolognese pasta of everything. That was a cafeteria meal, easy to make on a big scale for hungry teenagers and young adults. It was not even for the kid, he was something like one year old. Kids that age would not eat spaghetti the way I had gotten served.

 

I finished the plate and got up from the comfiest chair, searching in the nearby fancy kitchen (fancy really was the word to describe the place to the plebeian I was) where I could put the plate without looking like a dirty degenerate. I was already thinking about washing the dishes myself when I heard some footsteps behind me.

“Oh, do not worry about this, just put the plate near the sink, okay?” Mrs. Moinot said from behind my back.

I did what she told me to do and walked up to her, feeling a bit less tense now that this “issue” was solved. She invited me to sit down with her in the living room, an even fancier room with a large red carpet, comfortable sofas and an almost regal feeling to it. Man, this place felt like a small palace or a five-star hotel to the half-broke student I was. We sat down on the red sofa facing the television screen, in front of a glass coffee table.

 

“So, you are Justine, are you not? May you introduce yourself a little?” she asked, smiling at me, even if her eyebrows showed her mind was somewhere else too.

“Huh, of course not! What do you want to know about me?” I said back, not really sure of how to introduce myself. I thought I had already done so, forgetting how rushed and downright chaotic it had been.

“I would like you to tell me what you think I need to know about you. Is that fine with you?”

“Oh, huh, sure, lemme just think about it for a second…”

 

I really thought about what to say to her on me. What did she need to know about me, aside from my name, occupation and being her husband’s student?

“Huh, so… You already know I’m Justine, in _khâgne_. I really like history, mythology and Latin for some reason, and I would like to be a history teacher one day, that’s why I’m in _khâgne_.”

“Are you a history-geography specialist?”

“Yeah! Oh, sometimes I draw and write stuff, but that’s not something I show to anyone because it’s rather weird stuff, no offense to you or anything. I think that’s it? I mean, I don’t see what else I could speak about, I ramble about my life all the time anyway.”

 

She smiled and proceeded to introduce herself.

“My name is Annabelle Moinot and I am a theorist writer. Just like you, I attended _khâgne_ class and got the ENS entrance exam. I do gardening and some knitting in my spare time.”

Concise and clear. Exactly what you would expect from an ENS graduate.

“That’s impressive…” I let go from my lips. She giggled softly back at me.

“You should see Florian’s curriculum vitae then… It is far more impressive than mine” she replied.

“It really is? Being an ENS graduate is already really impressive to me!” I yelled back, before she quietly waved her hand to tell me to keep it down a little bit. Oops.

“He got his doctorate degree quite early on, his knowledge is always expanding with each year… I have found him asleep in his study, working on some book a lot of times before. He really is invested in your and your classmates’ future.”

“I think I… noticed that…” I gulped, thinking back on what had happened earlier on this crazy day.

 

She looked down, clutching her hands together. I could read some sadness on her face, in her eyes.

“I am always worried for him, since the attacks… He often finds his way in troubles he is not directly responsible of, but of whom he is the first victim of. Our common life has been filled with happy times, some of pure bliss. However, the sore ones always stick out in my mind, especially when someone like you gets involved in something so… tragic.”

She sadly scuffed to herself.

“Florian would frown upon me using this word in such a generic way. He hates looking like the _vulgum pecus_ , he wishes to look pristine and almost aristocratic-like. I would usually help him hide it, hide his social ground of origin, but I think you got a taste of where he really comes from. I think he would compare this to a writer…”

“To Annie Ernaux. The lookalike is pretty strong there” I completed her sentence.

“I should not drop all this information on you, young lady. I don’t know why I felt like I tell you such… Such things…”

“I may be misplaced to say that, but I think you should just tell whoever could listen to you. I’m certain you’re feeling really bad about the entire situation, hell, I do too.  I know it’s probably not very ethical of me to allow that, he’s my teacher after all, but… I guess you see where I’m coming from.”

“I indeed do.”

 

She took a breath and went to get a picture on a drawer, then showed it to me. On it, there were Mrs and Mr Moinot, standing in a different house than the one I was currently inside of. There was almost nothing different about them, except Mrs Moinot didn’t have any baby weight on there. I could only guess this dated back to before their son was born. My eyes then went to him, only for me to notice he was supporting himself on a crutch. His rolled-up sleeve revealed some bandages.

“How… how old is it?” I asked.

“It dates back to late 2015, back when we were still living in Paris. Our friends took it after…”

Wait. Late 2015? This seemed fishy.

“After the Paris attacks?” I then said.

Her face instantly grimed down.

“Yes.”

 

Something truly unforgettable must had happened for her expression to drop so suddenly. I instantly tensed up, not feeling this reassuring aura of hers suddenly. Her fist was now clenched, as if she was retaining anger inside.

“Ma’am? You’re alright Ma’am?”

This was slightly terrifying. I was not expecting her to lose her composure, even slightly.

“I am, do not worry…”

“If I’m not too curious, why are you showing me this picture? It seems really personal to you and stuff.”

“To be honest with you, it has been a while since I met someone who is not a friend of Florian for more than a year. I think I need someone who was not there when it happened to let it out of my chest.”

“You’re sure you want someone like me to do that? I mean, I’m a student and stuff…”

“He told me you were scared of him, or at least looked like so. He wanted to desacralize himself to you, but did not know where to start off. I think I am doing him a favour by doing so for him.”

 

I gulped. That was way too familiar.

“He simply asked me for advice because he is at loss when confronted to you. You are puzzling to him, shall I say.”

“Yeah, I… I know that. So you’re trying to humanize him, right?”

“This is indeed my plan.”

That day truly was a series of unfortunate events for me.

 

Another breath. Her eyes closed as she clenched the picture with her two hands.

“Even if he wrote down what he lived through on this faithful day, people usually do not know the full extent of it. I know this because I was the one who typed down his account, considering he could not do so by himself back then” she said in a calm, almost ominous tone.

“What happened, exactly? I think I may have read that somewhere, but I can’t remember it for the sake of me right now” I replied.

“He happened to be in the wrong spot at the wrong time, along with two friends of us and my brother. They were all splattered with glass shards resulting from shot glasses and windows, but he was the victim of a lost bullet.”

“A… lost bullet? Nobody else got injured, I mean, shot?”

“No one did. I do not think it was unfair nobody other than Florian got injured, however. Nobody deserved this, whether it is him or the other clients, or even any other victim of these horrible acts. I am sure he thinks the same way despite the pain he has carried from it to this day.”

“What do you mean by ‘the pain’?” I asked, fearful. I was truly expecting the conversation to take a darker-than-black direction.

 

Her eyes creaked open, revealing her sadness hidden behind these flames of rage.

“His right lung got perforated by the bullet, which destroyed a not-so-small part of it. Even if they tried their best at patching it up, he still suffers from his injuries to this day. Lungs take longer to fully repair than I had ever expected.”

Well that was far, far more disturbing than what I had expected myself from the picture and the bandages on his arm.

“That’s really disturbing…” I just said, at loss for words.

A hole in a lung? I had truly never heard that one before.

 

“He would not tell anybody about it. I had to ask to the medical staff in order to know why he was wheezing instead of breathing steadily. I guess he truly wants nobody to worry for him, so he does not show his weaknesses… That may be why you feel like he is an almost inhuman giant. He portrays himself as one, whether he knows it or not.”

She took a breath and wiped out some early tears.

“I told him over and over again not to hide what should not be kept away from his trusted ones. Of course, as a student it was normal you did not know this, but even I do not know everything. Sometimes, I just rely on pretending to be asleep or on our son to know what he would never talk to me about.”

 

Something did not make sense in my head. There was quite the… irrational piece of information in there which struck me. Maybe playing Japanese visual novels where I had to shoot down incoherent arguments and lies had sharpened my guessing abilities.

“Wait… Isn’t your son like one year old or something? I could have sworn he was born on October of last year” I suddenly said, the question completely escaping my mouth.

Mrs Moinot simply giggled back.

“You remembered this despite not having Florian as your teacher at the time? You are quite impressive.”

I did not want to spoil the fun by mentioning the fact he had justified switching around oral hours on the Wednesday before the fall break with his son’s birthday…

 

Her face went dim once again as she regained her serious from before.

“Florian tends to speak to our son about his day as it is good for such a young child to be talked to and talked with. Of course, since Olivier cannot understand most of the words we use on a daily basis, his father is not scared about him getting the darkest to come to his mind. So I just listen stealthily as he vents to our year-old son… He tries to be more open about it, I can tell he is doing his best at finally being earnest about all of this, but he still reverts back into his hiding habits whenever he would have to come off clean about what is wrong. This especially includes being ill…”

 

Well, that was quite the hard information to take in. I had just discovered my proud-looking teacher actually hated himself a bit on the inside, but never let his façade even creak in case it would reveal the turmoil he actually was on the inside. I guess that was why he was trying so hard to hide his Lorrain roots and lower class-like natural speech.

“So that’s how you guessed he had gone delirious earlier? Because he was strangely open about his weak points?”

“Well, it was one of the elements which told me so. I think I just felt it, but he was indeed naturally open to you about his fear of loneliness and pain of feeling weak. By the way… Thank you very much for your words about this to him.”

“Wait, what? I just said whatever went through my head.”

 

Mrs Moinot finally lit up again, her lips going upwards.

“You seem to have understood him, even if you got catapulted into the situation with no previous warning… I think you managed to make him feel a bit better about himself without completely forgiving him either. It is as if you… lived this situation before…”

Her expression turned puzzles as my own shifted into my version of the bad memories face.

“Actually… I kinda did.”

 

Her astonishment was readable on every single part of her body: her face, the sharp rise in her voice, the glasses almost falling from her nose. She put them back, not letting go of the surprise.

“What do you mean?!” she yelled as a question, before putting a hand on her mouth.

I looked at the ceiling, dropping the naïve act I was trying to maintain in order to show myself as far, far less worried than I actually was.

 

“Yeah… Mr Moinot isn’t the first one I’ve seen. Mr Bannaire was already like this. I remember him crying out loud about his problems and especially his inner fears, mainly the one of failure and of abandoning us if he was absent too much. That’s when he told me about how easily sick he was, and he didn’t know how to tell us about it. I… still never told anyone in my class except for maybe a friend or two. I wasn’t even that sick; he was just really scared.”

“Mr Bannaire… You are talking about François Bannaire, right? Florian invited him at ours once or twice before, he is a really nice man. I am even surprised you are telling me about this. I should not be so surprised when my own husband is like this either, should I not?”

“He’s really good at hiding it behind that happy-go-lucky façade of his. He slips here and there because he’s a really, really bad liar though, so it’s more obvious to anyone who see him around a lot. However, Mr Moinot is a master at hiding his insecurities, and that’s what makes it even worse to me, because I can’t get behind his façade…”

 

She only nodded back sadly, with darkened eyes. We both went silent, until I yawned. Glancing at my watch, I realized it was way, way later than I thought: it was half past eleven. I had not realized we had taken that long to reach Lille, and a lot had happened after we even reached the house, including seeing my teacher going delirious and discussing about him with his wife. My life truly was wild, huh. She also looked at her own watch.

“It is really late… You must be tired, especially after a whole week of class and what happened today and tonight. What about I show you around before going to bed?”

“Sure thing, I think I need to unwind after today.”

 

We both got up from the comfiest sofa I had ever seen, as she headed me to the corridor. Sure thing, the house was more than the fancy kitchen, the fancy living room and the rooms upstairs; it was far from being those only. She showed me the downstairs bathroom, covered in blues and whites, a bathtub and a shower, with everything metal possible being covered in gold. For the first time in my life, I was actually amazed by something as casual and mundane as a bathroom.

I asked if I could take a shower after the tour was over, which Mrs Moinot agreed allowing me to do. I usually did not like washing at other people’s home; but I desperately needed it. We continued the tour by checking out their personal library, which was filled to the brim with more-or-less familiar books, and her study, before going upstairs.

There, I saw the two bedrooms I had entered again, but got to know the other rooms, starting with his own study. It was less spacious than I thought, but it still had a handy, smaller bookshelf for what he probably needed on hand for our lessons, and the desk itself clearly was leagues better than anything I ever had in my life to serve as a desk (especially the one I had in my previous dorm room). There was yet another bedroom, which I assumed was their son’s, and another bathroom to boot. Finally, there was a rather empty room.

 

“Excuse me… What’s this room’s supposed to be?” I asked in a low voice, pointing towards the almost complete lack of furniture and half-torn wallpaper.

“Oh, it is our son’s future personal room. We figured that, since we both have a study, he could have his own second room. We are thinking about making it neutral enough so when he grows up it does not become too childish for him, but we still disagree on what direction to take about this, so it is still in progress.”

She rose her eyes towards the ceiling, then looked at some weird tape piece in the background.

“Not to mention we still have a lot of work to get done in this room. It used to be a bathroom we did not need, so we took down most water pipes going around, including the sink that was where the black piece of tape is today. However, we got stopped in our tracks when the school year started, and with Florian’s current condition, I am unsure of when we are going to resume working on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you find the reference to some game I write stupid sickfics about yet?


	5. Ceci soignera cela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shower leads to the least awkward convo Justine has had for the day.   
> Finally.
> 
> Did I mention PDV has a lot of these ambiguous, borderline situations? Because it does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this chapter enforces the fact nobody at my school should ever find my AO3 page before I explain PDV's shtick  
> Or in general actually

We parted ways when we reached the master bedroom again. I wished her goodnight, so did she back at me, and I went to my temporary room. Even if I had left my shampoo bottle and body washing stuff at my dorm, a habit of mine, I still had my own towel in my luggage. I was the happiest girl ever when I found, in my small hygiene bag, the smallest bottle of body wash. I had forgotten I still had it in there, but I didn’t mind, along with a washcloth usually carrying a toothbrush whenever I needed to do so.

After I had gathered everything I needed, I headed downstairs and to the bathroom, hoping I would understand the shower quickly enough not to either burn alive or change into a human-sized ice cube, while attempting to make the less noise possible. Something was telling me the entire house was incredibly soundproof, considering the kid had slept perfectly despite the absolute cacophony we had all caused by bringing everything and everyone upstairs earlier in the evening.

 

I truly needed to unwind. My hands had shaken for the past hour or so, my teeth were chattering along, I was blinking furiously and I just wanted to be over with the situation. What was originally a sleepover at a friend’s house just so he could wish me a happy birthday at midnight transformed into a sleepover at my teacher’s house because my main mode of transportation had something else on his hands after we had played ambulance.

I should had called for an ambulance, now that I was thinking about it. Regrets were not going to ease my sleep, or to unwind actually, but they were still lingering there, and I needed them gone as soon as possible.

 

When you are stranded at someone else’s house, whether or not it’s by your own decision and will, it always weird to do what you are used to at home. When I was at Lucas’s, I felt as if I was at my own place as soon as his dogs did not bark at me, but even then washing there felt… incredibly weird. I did not feel really comfortable getting naked and private in a space not really mine.

But this was another pair of shoes to be in. Not only was I not at my place: I was at someone’s I had known for barely three months place, whom had hierarchal superiority over me of everything and whom I was supposed to have a professional and only professional relationship with. Moreover, it was my first time being there at all: to even think I was meant to fall asleep and feel safe here was almost beyond my reach at that point.

 

I carefully undressed, making sure to put my towel close to the shower. For once, it seemed to work the same way as I was used to: the temperature was already set to thirty-eight degrees and I just had to push a button. Phew, I did not have to play the engineers with a showerhead. I was not going to complain, quite the contrary. At least, that was one thing I did not have to think of, something you would like to enjoy when your head is full and when you’re trying your hardest to survive in the middle of a situation so absurd not even a novelist would want it for an absurd novel.

The water did ease out my nerves at first, to the point I almost fell asleep in the shower, but before I could completely relax, I got remembered of where I was and what I had gotten involved in. It was easier to ignore everything when my eyes were closed, but I could not run away from the facts anymore. At least, everyone else was in bed, so I had a free pass to do whatever I wanted to do without anyone judging me.

After washing myself, I looked into the mirror: with my messy hair, dark rings and overall worn out look on my face, I did not look like the brave heroine I should had been. I looked exactly how I was: completely and utterly lost and in a state of panic. Great. This was just getting better and better.

 

I explored the now sunk-in-darkness house on my own, only helped by my fellow phone’s flashlight. I hoped my hardest there was no animal to jump-scare me in the middle of a corridor drown in shadows, but considering nothing had barked at me yet, my shoulders eased out slightly, key word being slightly.

I did not feel sleepy in the slightest: on the contrary, I was driven by insomnia. I wished I could sleep: my day had went from simple English class and breakfast with the first year girls at the dorm to a strange test, to my friend and I bringing my teacher home, to me having a surprise sleepover at said teacher’s house.

No matter how many times I would repeat this to myself, I still could not get over how fucked I was. Sure, I was safe in a house probably riddled with alarms (since small red lights had been blinking at me for the past hour or so), but I did not feel… right. This was so wrong on so many levels, and it kept getting worse and worse and worse. It felt like I was losing my mind.

 

Explaining this to my parents was out of the question: in a couple of text messages, Lucas agreed to bring us back to Homarville and I would just explain I slept at his house for my birthday. This was simple. So, so very simple. There was no words to my parents about me being at Mr. Moinot’s place. Maybe I would still tell them about us driving him home, because even if it was farfetched, it was still something right to do, no? I was not so sure anymore: instinct is both a curse and a blessing.

I went back upstairs after a bit of exploring. When I reached my room, I immediately knew it was midnight: I was getting sent a bunch of happy birthday messages from my friends who had stayed up late enough to see the twenty-fifth roll around. I smiled for the time in the evening, at least for the moments I had been on my own: people cared about me. Only Lucas knew about my current predicament, however, and I was not ready to tell everyone about the absolutely insane shenanigans I had managed to get involved in. There was no way they would believe me anyway.

 

My coercive reassuring thoughts kicked in immediately: at least the bed was comfortable. My pyjama was comfortable. Everything would be okay. I would go back to my place in time and I would never mention this weird as fuck evening ever again in my goddamn life.

My thoughts rapidly flew into the complete opposite direction: no, nothing was right, it was all wrong, I knew it. Denial was not powerful enough to even stand on its own. I was going for a sleepless night it seemed, considering how horrible my mental state was being with me. Anxiety crawled all over my body, through my veins and nerves, as I let myself curl up in the bed, using the sheets as a way to hide my face from the night time air. I did not want to tear up.

 

“Justine?”

A voice suddenly called for me, out of nowhere. I first checked if it was my phone: it was plugged in, and I had music in in hopes to drown my stress, but nobody was on the phone with me. I crawled out of the sheets, taking a glance around, only to see a _very_ familiar face holding a flashlight.

“Sir…?” I barely muttered out, slightly more scared than shocked. I must had broken havoc without meaning to.

“Do you mind… having a talk…?” he mused, keeping his cough inside.

“Aren’t you supposed to be bedridden and coughing up blood or something?” I asked back.

“I had to take something to stop it and sleep… But I can’t find it.”

“Actually, same for me. Here, take a seat.”

I sat in the middle of the bed, back against the wall, as I patted the spot next to me. He followed through.

 

For some reason, it did not feel as awkward as the talk we had in his bedroom. Maybe it was the background noise of the few cars still circulating Lille’s outskirts. Maybe it was the gentle wind brushing the window. Maybe it was the dark blue hues of the young night preventing us from seeing most of the other’s face. He had turned down his flashlight. The light of the moon shined on the wooden floor.

“You wanted to talk to me?” I asked him, curious. Why me and not his son, who couldn’t understand him? Why not his wife, whom he was much closer to?

“Yes… I feel like we need to have a talk about everything today has been.”

“I… can’t disagree on that.”

 

I retracted my knees to my stomach as he cleared his throat.

“I request you not to say anything about all of this to anyone at Chromas, understood?”

“If you thought I was gonna talk about it to anyone… I would prefer to forget everything because frankly this is way too freaking weird to me.”

“At least, we’re on the same page… By the way,” he gulped and I could see his brows slightly frown, “I’m deeply sorry for everything you’ve endured today.”

“It’s… it’s okay. I mean, it’s partly my fault, I involved myself in it. Things just turned out… really fucking strange and I got taken aback. It’s not everyday that those kind of things happen, don’t you think?”

“I think I’m going to do anything for that not to happen again. I realize I’ve been lucky you were there.”

“Psh, don’t fool me. I’m sure someone else would have helped you out. I should have called for an ambulance, you wouldn’t be relying on… cough drops if it wasn’t for me.”

“I truly mean it, Justine. You were really effective on this.”

 

A sarcastic rictus made its way onto my face. This was not happening.

“I mean, I don’t want to sound mean and all, and with all due respect… That was so fucking dumb of you.”

“Usually, I would have been stern on your language, but you’re right. This was beyond idiotic of me. I got entangled within my hubris…”

“Holy shit even when it’s midnight and you’re sick as fuck you speak in fancy words.”

 

As soon as I spoke this thought out loud, I put my hand on my mouth. I expected a glare, and a scolding, but instead all Mr Moinot did was scoff and a laugh escaped his lips.

“You’re right. You once told me you were bad with what you’re calling ‘fancy words’.”

“It’s not that, it’s just weird to have someone use ‘hubris’ when all you did was coming to work way past ill for some reason, I guess professionalism gone too far, or gone wrong, you pick. Excuse my language, it’s late and I can’t sleep.”

“Do you allow me to swear then? Even talk a bit less… teacher-ly per say?”

“I would be a bloody hypocrite if I didn’t.”

 

He let out a slight laugh again.

“It’s like I’m talking to an entirely different person. Where’s Justine Lhotar?”

“She’s here. It’s just that it’s weird to consider you my teacher right now. It’s easier if I forget that for a night.”

“Call me Florian just for today then. It’s easier for me to ignore you’re supposed to be a student right now too.”

“That’s gonna be weird too, but hey, I’m not against it. Let’s go on a personal basis until I leave the place. It’s not like we’re gonna see each other for a while.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you even step foot in Chromas next week I’m gonna Falcon Punch you back to Lille.”

“Falcon Punch?”

That was the kind of reference he would never get, was it not?

 

“You never played video games, haven’t you?”

“I never really had the time or the interest in doing so.”

“You know, books and all are fine, but pure fun is right too sometimes. I think we can play something together on my laptop…”

“What would you play with someone like me?”

“I dunno. Pokémon’s nice but I don’t have my console on me. Danganronpa’s a bit too intellectual for past-midnight playthroughs. I’m not in a puzzle mood and Corpse Party’s not a good idea before sleep…”

“Excuse me, those names sound really weird…”

“It’s because they are. Do you imagine how long it took me to pronounce ‘Danganronpa’ correctly? I think it took an entire month and by then I had finished the first game!”

“It took a long time to finish it, then?”

“Nah, not really. It’s easier when your roommates hate your guts and that you play to ignore them while knowing half the plot already. I got spoiled the final plot twist more than once.”

“What a shame, was it a thriller or some kind of detective story?”

“Kind of? I mean, it’s a bunch of teenagers killing each other to escape a school while getting harassed by a monochromatic bear thing. I’m still crying because of Chapter 4.”

“So, it’s like a novel?”

“It’s not called a visual novel for nothing, sir… I mean Florian.”

He looked at me as if I was the weirdest thing.

“Never mind. Maybe I’ll show you when I’ll have graduated Chromas. What do you want to talk about now? It’s not like you and me are getting any sleep for a while, isn’t it?”

 

He looked up at the ceiling, the moon reflecting in his glasses.

“I can’t… get a hold of your true personality, Justine.”

“What do you mean? I’m kind of a cardboard cut. Very one-dimensional.”

“This isn’t true. It feels like you’re not the same as you usually are today. Even earlier, you ordered me around. I thought you were shy, even timid. You’re not, aren’t you?”

“It depends. I’m uncomfortable around people I don’t know and people who have power on me. Sometimes, I play dumb to get things my way. Some even say I’m pretentious because of my intellect. I don’t think I know myself very well anyway. It’s not like I couldn’t turn the question back at you, right?”

“I don’t think anyone who isn’t shallow knows themselves entirely. There’s always a part of you only others can reach, no matter how self-conscious you are.”

“You’re saying ‘cause that’s my case, right?”

“I would lie if I said it wasn’t mine too.”

 

I stared at him, _bewildered_.

“Wait, you’re self-conscious too? I thought you were that posh, upper-class Parisian guy with a fancy vocabulary. That’s… surprising.”

He let out a saddened giggle. I saw his slight smile go away from his face.

“I’m acutely aware of everything I’m doing and everything I am. I wish I wasn’t…”

“But what do you even have to be self-conscious of? You’re a doctorate in literature, a well-liked and respected professor, you’re married and a father, and I’m sure you did a ton of other incredible things! It’s nothing like me, I’m a college student who’s still somewhat lost!”

“You can’t forget your roots, no matter how much you’ll erase them. You… you’re one of the only people I’ve allowed myself to slip back into my native accent.”

“I can’t really tell the difference, except that you sound a bit less fancy. Maybe it’s because we’re whispering.”

“You must be right…”

 

I giggled to myself.

“But hey, I dunno why you’re making such a fuss about it. You teach in Arras, in a rather friendly class. Nobody’s going to mock you for your accent. Maybe they’ll make fun of you depending on how you call a chocolate-stuffed loaf of bread, but they won’t do for your accent alone. We’re not that mean-spirited, you know?”

“It’s a question of roots. What if I told you I was… not born this way?”

 

A silence ensued.

“What you mean?”

Silence.

“I would rather skip the details.”

Silence.

 

“I guess you truly can’t forget your roots. I’ll always be an Eco-Socio major. I’ll never be a ‘true literary girl’. That’s not just a question of fancy words and not having attended the right major.”

“You still think you don’t deserve to be a _khâgne_?” I sensed a slight upsetting in his voice.

“No, no, you don’t get it. Mr Bannaire has repeated me so enough times for me to get it drilled inside my skull. I mean, I’ll never be this perfect novel-addict girl who only swears by Flaubert.”

I let out the slightest sigh.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that, we don’t care about who you used to be. Just like you don’t care about me having graduated high school in ES, we don’t care about who you were, what you were, etc. That’s a huge part of who you are, sure, but we don’t get to see that. We only get to see you as our teacher. I think you live too much in the past, sir.”

 

A small scoff escape my mouth.

“I used to be like that, so bad. I wanted to be just like her, just like my role model. While I still deeply respect her, I realized this prevented me from being my best, from being myself. I had to realize I was no Mrs Jonquille and that I was never going to be Mrs Jonquille. I don’t know who or what you’re trying to be, but you seem like you’re completely denying who you are. Masks aren’t healthy, you know? It’s not like I can’t why you would play pretend in front of a bunch of drama-starved college students. It just seems like you… you’re lying to yourself too. Are you trying to be that Parisian posh guy you clearly aren’t?”

“…clearly?”

“Don’t lie to me, sir… Actually, let me call you Florian on that. You may be from Paris, sure, but you don’t sound like you actually lived there. Well, you do, but it sounds forced. Like you’re trying to live a live you’ve never had by telling us about it.”

“So that’s how you’re seeing things…”

“Am I wrong?”

“Not so much. I prefer not to dwell on it. As you said, it would be time for me… to finally cut myself from that façade...

 

He lightly coughed into his hand.

“Sir, you’re alright?”

I slipped into automatic student mode again. Fuck.

“It’s nothing, I’m just starting to feel… sleepy… You managed to calm me down somehow…”

“That was my goal, hehe.”

 

Shortly after, his head went down and his glasses fell from the bridge of his nose onto the bed. Knowing I would be able to bring him to his room on my own, I decided to put the shawl I had in my suitcase over his shoulder, then another blanket I found somewhere else in the room, and also put it on him.

Only then did I enter my bed, amazed at the sheer coincidence of him leaving just enough space for my legs under the sheets, before falling asleep myself. The conversation had let me wind out too…


	6. Magistriscuraelogy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story ends here, on a note about trust, acceptance, pneumonia and plot twists  
> See ya in the next episode

As I blinked myself awake, the first thing I noticed was the smell of breakfast: hot chocolate, toasted bread, coffee. Even if I was half-awake, trying to reach the surface again, I knew it was odd: it never smelled like breakfast in my room, and especially not when I wake up extra late on Saturdays. I rubbed my eyes only to remember why it _could_ smell like breakfast.

I was not home. It was somewhere else entirely.

 

Instead, I found myself in a blue room, in blue and yellow sheets, with a somewhat familiar woman standing in front of me holding a tray and smiling at me.

“Good morning” she said, her voice soothing the slight panic in my stomach.

“Oh, good morning Ma’am…” I replied, repressing a yawn inside my mouth, with no avail.

She walked to me and put the trail on the end of the bed I did not occupy.

“I hope I did not startle you awake, honey.”

“Oh, no, you didn’t at all… What time is it?”

“It is half past nine, why?”

“Oh, nothing, I just need to get home not too late and I need to do that with Lucas.”

 

Mrs Moinot then half-gasped from nowhere.

“Oh, huh, thanks a bunch for the free breakfast in bed… You really didn’t have to” I said, thinking it may had been my lack of politeness towards her.

“It’s nothing… I just remembered something.”

“Oh, right, me too. Where’s Mr Moinot? I could swear he felt asleep on my bed last night.”

“He is in our room, do not worry. I knew I was forgetting something when bringing it to you!”

 

She rumbled through the pockets of her apron, only to get out from it a candle she put on the loaf of chocolate-pasted bread on the tray and a box of match, from which she lit up one and used it to bring the candle to life.

“Happy birthday” she simply said as she gestured me towards the small flame.

 

I blinked furiously, before almost mechanically blowing the candle.

“Wait… How do you know it’s my birthday today?!” I barely retained myself from yelling in surprise and dumbfounding.

“Florian told me so last night, when he came back into our room. I think he was either half-awake or delirious, but he was saying to himself he had forgotten to tell you, so I do for him. Once again, happy birthday. How old are you now?”

“I’m nineteen. Thank you again!”

“You are welcome. Now, I will let you eat in peace as I take care of my other duties. Do not hesitate to call for me if you need something.”

“I’ll do.”

 

I had never eaten a birthday breakfast, especially not in bed, and especially not in such a weird context. Waving my eighteenth year goodbye and saying hello to the nineteenth, I quickly ate my earliest present and dressed up with in-case clothes I had taken in case I had slept at Lucas’s unexpectedly. For once, I could be truly grateful to my over-preparing habits: they had saved my butt on this weird journey.

As soon as I was fully clothed and ready for a new day, I started packing my stuff again. Not that my friend was responding, he was probably still sleeping next to Lina, I was just making sure I was not forgetting something I would take ages to recover. Right after I came back from the bathroom, and as soon as I had gotten out my laptop from my bag, I heard a knock.

“Yes?”

 

I was less surprised by seeing Mr Moinot at the door than by the fact he was able to even stand in front of me without looking like he was about to collapse in coughing.

“Huh… Hello sir… Can I do something for you?”

“Good morning, Justine… Can I talk to you for a minute or two?”

“Sure thing.”

 

He sat down on the bed, right where he had been during the previous night, and I regained my own spot. The wheezing in the room worried me, sure, but I was sure his wife would drag him to a doctor if he refused to do so himself, and if she was not dragging him to the doctor then she was dragging the doctor to him instead.

“So…” he started, looking at the ground.

“No word to anyone else about yesterday evening, and we don’t mention it ever again. Got it.”

“N-no, this wasn’t what I wanted to tell you about…”

“…oh.”

Then what?

 

“This is about you and your class…” he then said, in a hushed voice.

“Oh, right, you’re probably gonna be missing for a while because of whatever this is…”

“I would have worded it differently…” he coughed. “But you summed it up quite well.”

“I’m a bit conflicted on this. On one hand, you absolutely need to heal up from this with rest and care and not coming to school. On the other hand, it’ll be like a good two weeks before you can come back, and this’ll probably cost us a lot in the long run…”

“I have a solution…”

“You do? Like, mailing us your all-prepared papers and sleeping for a century? Seems good to me.”

I did not want him to say _that_. I was sure he knew he wanted to do _that_. But I just could not let him.

 

He scoffed, coughed up from the amused scoff and kept on with this serious face of his.

“I… asked François Bannaire to substitute for me meanwhile.”

My arms fell on my sides as if their bones had been taken away, thoughts not even making it out of my mouth.

 

Mr Moinot looked a bit pained, almost upset, before looking down, fiddling with his fingers. He cleared his throat, his breathing still heavy and his general attitude still wheezing.

“I know this isn’t… right. It feels so wrong… even to me. He shouldn’t get involved in this mess…”

“If you did so, it must be that you think we really needed a teacher… And that you _knew_ he would accept.”

“I did think this way, somewhat… You seem… angry at me for this, don’t you, Justine?”

“I think ‘angry’ is a strong word. I can get behind why you did that, you want us to succeed and so you needed someone you trust in to help while you’re away because of something you can’t directly control. I’m more… anxious about the outcome of this.”

“Were you the student who got to witness him ill last year…?”

 

His sentence felt like a hammer had just been smashed into my head.

“H-h-how do you know about this?! I thought we were all alone in the classroom when that happened!!” I screamed.

“I paid him a visit as soon as I knew he was grievously ill… And in a fever haze he started to tell me about how kind and understanding his sister was…”

“His sister?”

“I thought it was his sister, his actual… Until he mentioned she had a backpack… and that she lived in Arras…”

“So, in some kind of light delirium, he told you about me… under the name of his sister?”

“I think so… It’s still blurry and vague because of how unwell he was… but I’m now certain he meant to talk about you…”

“What makes you so sure? Why couldn’t it be another _hypokhâgne_? Hell, it could had been any girl with a backpack!”

“You speak just like the girl he was telling me about…”

 

I blinked.

“I do?”

“Yes… You actually… are really soothing to speak to, for some reason… I’m a really secretive person, my wife tells me so all the time… So why am I even being so open to you…?”

“I can’t be certain, because I’m not in your head and I’ll never be, but I think it may be because I sound and look vulgar, familiar, like I was some kind of estranged cousin or pen pal of sorts. I’m unsure what you find reassuring about a loud mouth like I am.”

“I’m unsure too… But it seems like my wife, François and I share this opinion of you…Once you opened up to us… you were really… really… rea…”

His breathing started to go haywire, wheezes filling the room as he clutched for air around us.

 

“Sir…?” I whispered to myself before rushing downstairs to get Mrs Moinot, hoping she could do better than I could.

In a rush, she asked me to watch over her son as she bolted upstairs, skipping half the necessary steps for it. I sent, right after she left, a message to Lucas to pick me up as soon as possible. It felt like the situation was slipping from my fingers so badly, I could not even control my own anxiety.

 

Only then did I even take a look at their son, which I had not really seen since I had entered the house. He had brown hair, just like his father, but his eyes seemed a bit too dark to be nothing else than his mother’s, and was peacefully sucking on a pacifier, calmly sitting in a high chair. He was not scared in the slightest of me.

“Huh… hi lil’ guy” I simply said, and he clapped back.

“So, huh… how are you? I mean, life’s a bit hectic lately, isn’t it?”

I let a nervous laugh. I was not used in the slightest to really young children.

 

I felt my legs wobbling and sat down near him, just so I could watch him and do something if anything went wrong. I let out a desperate sigh, my phone showing zero activity and no sound coming from upstairs to tell me how the situation was going.

“Your dad’s one hell of a man, y’know? That guy seems like he’s not weakened by anything, only to choke on his own mucus in front of a student… I sure hope he’s not that secretive with you after you learn how to speak and understand the worrying stuff he must be spewing out at you to unwind. Like, he’s a great guy and all, I can only give him that, but gee, he’s a master of worrying people when he doesn’t want to. I thought responsible parents knew not to do that. I guess I’m too young to know how stupid adults can truly be.”

 

Another giggle escaped my mouth, except tears came with it.

“I don’t even know anymore, lil’ guy… That’s such a complicated plot with a shitton of plot twists. It’s like every time it looks like it’s finally gonna be normal, it’s not and it’s even weirder than before. Do you even imagine becoming the confessor of your college teacher?”

He just stared at me, silently.

“Your mom has so much stuff to deal with, I’m surprised she still found time to serve me breakfast in bed. I must had done something worth so much praise and credit she went out of her way to do something I could have easily made for myself, albeit I wouldn’t have thought about including my birthday in it.”

I wiped my eyes and put my hand to my head.

“I forgot about my own fucking birthday because of that. The ride is that wild.”

 

Busting out my phone, I find out about what went down tonight: some memes got thrown around in the server, everybody asked me about why I vanished into oblivion for so long after I messaged them a shy “hi people, yesterday was… something”, if I was doing all right, all this jazz. I replied that, yes, I was doing fine, I was just shaken by everything that had went down. I promised to tell them about the entire story after I was back home or at least at my laptop.

I got some notifications, which were usually daily subscriptions to people I liked the content of. Nothing major on this side, except that I felt like I had to write down the entire situation as soon as possible, just so it would be kept away from time destroying it and my memory of it.

 

Soon enough, Mrs Moinot came back and grabbed a phone.

“Thank you very much for watching over Olivier while I was busy somewhere else… If you’ll excuse me, I have to see if I can get a doctor here, I don’t want Florian to go outside in his current condition…”

She busted out the phone index from a closet in the living room, grabbed her mobile phone, but not before looking at me and gasping.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot! He wants to speak to you, now that his breathing has calmed down. Could you please do that for the both of us?”

“Sure thing!”

 

I waved goodbye to my small buddy and rushed upstairs, almost tripping on a middle step, before reaching the first floor and going to his room, catching my breath after hesitating to knock. I took a last, long deep breath in and gently hit the door with my right fist. I got a small “yes” as an answer, followed by far louder coughing. Oh boy, what did he want to tell me about this time?

The room had changed atmospheres since the previous evening. The curtains were now open, revealing the cloudy and rainy weather typical of the region. The warm atmosphere had given his place to a grimmer, cold mood. The air smelled like medicine, menthol, a pharmacy inside a house. Linking the grim and the pharmaceutic, Mr Moinot, sitting on his bed propped on a pillow behind his back.

 

“You… wanted to talk to me?” I asked, wandering around the room.

“Indeed… Do you have some… time before you once again…?”

“Yeah, my friend probably isn’t even awake by now.”

“Good, this means… I can finally say what I still have to tell you about… Mind… sitting down next to me…?”

“N-no…”

 

I did as I was requested to, despite how uneasy I felt about the whole ordeal.

“I… need you to tell François about everything. He’s scared nobody trusts in him… I’m too unwell to manage to write an email to him… and my wife is busy with me to take care on top of everything…”

“So you finally admitted defeat and decided to let someone else take care of you at least a little bit?”

“I hate to do so, don’t get me wrong, Justine… But it’s all I can do for now. I’m… I’m feeling so badly I can’t even read…”

“That must suck. I mean, with how boring things are when you’re strayed at home, you’re somewhat fucked. I don’t think Mrs Moinot’s even gonna allow you near your son, like, we never know how impactful being around your bacteria could be for such a young kid.”

“I don’t even want Olivier to see me in that pitiful state…”

“Well, can’t say I can’t get behind that… I’m even surprised you have zero issue with me seeing you like that right now.”

“You’ve seen me passed out on the floor… I think that was worse”

“You have a point there.”

 

He cleared his throat, spit in a nearby bucket and looked by the window.

“Lemme get some paper and a pen to note down everything, if I have to serve as the contact between you and Mr Bannaire.”

I rushed to the guest room, got out from my back my notepad and from my trusty shoulder bag a pen, then rushed back to the master bedroom and sat down again.

“Sorry for the delay, sir.”

“It’s alright…”

 

He cleared his throat again and words flowed down from his mouth, accompanied by coughing and sniffing here and there.

“Okay, so… Tell him, in short, that I’m currently bedridden with… pneumonia I suppose… That I’ll not be able to make class to the _khâgnes_ … That I need him to do this for me, using my notes and anthology on Lamartine… If he needs any help he can tell you specifically about it…”

“You’re sure about that? I mean, aren’t modern literature specialists better than me for that? And you had William and Lison for longer than you’ve known me.”

“It’s more for François than me… He’s the closest to you of all the current _khâgne_ class…”

“And your other work… Oh, right, it’s me because I’m here right now, know about everything that happened and how serious your condition is, isn’t it?”

“You got it…” he smiled.

 

Glancing at my phone, I saw Lucas was picking me up at half past ten. It was only o’clock.

“So, where was I… Right, if he needs anything, he can ask you… And then you can redirect it to me… I’m counting on your summarizing skills to spare me too many chatter, you know how he is…”

“Roger.”

“And, to end it… This one’s just for you, Justine, so listen up…”

“Hmm?”

 “I want you to… know you’re the best for this task… You shouldn’t be afraid or feel like you shouldn’t bear it… and please… tell everyone I’m really sorry for this, especially François… and you, of course…”

“Can I tell you something just for you too, sir?”

“Sure thing…”

 

I took a deep breath in. “You shouldn’t be afraid”, huh.

“I think you apologize way too much about this. I mean, you just wanted to watch us over because you’re a good teacher who aspires to be one, so you did. The issue was that you were really, really sick, and it got worse during the day and eventually you needed someone to bring you home to rest and for someone to take care of you while you’re unavailable. I’m sure Mr Bannaire won’t mind, he’s a really sweet guy after all. I’m actually proud you decided to fully trust me on this one.”

 

Both our heads turned towards the sudden knock on the door.

“Yes?” I answered for the teacher.

A thirty-something, grey-haired, glasses-wearing man then entered, dressed in a white coat and holding an also white case.

“Hello. I’m Dr Mark Menkën, and I’ve been called for you sir.”

He turned towards me.

“Pleasure to meet you, miss.”

“P-pleasure to meet you too…”

 

He gently smiled and sat right next to Mr Moinot, putting on the floor then opening his case, revealing all kinds of medical material.

“Huh… I’ll see you around sir, my friend’s picking me up soon… I send you a mail whenever I need to ask something, is that right with you?”

“It is… Goodbye Justine, take care, and… Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

 

I rushed outside the room, grabbed my stuff in the guest room and went downstairs. I only had five minutes to wait left, and I wanted to thank Mrs Moinot for everything. I left Lille after some warm goodbyes, a “you can come whenever you need or want!” from her and a wave from the son.

In the car, Lucas asked me how my evening had been going, after apologizing way too much.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. You wouldn’t know how good his wife is at spaghetti Bolognese.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao sequel is more or less announced with this


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